


A Night at the Office

by TheFutureMrsCapaldi



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M, Food Porn, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7708747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFutureMrsCapaldi/pseuds/TheFutureMrsCapaldi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yolanda Miller is subbing for Sam on one of the worst days of Malcolm Tucker's life and decides to make it better...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night at the Office

I'd only been working for Malcolm Tucker for a short while, as his temporary secretary, but it had been an adventure, to say the least. The temperamental, foul-mouthed alpha male left me with mixed feelings of disgust and desire. He presented an exterior of rage and of being fed up with other people, but when I had occasion to look into his big, beautiful blue eyes I could see something buried deep within him, something he didn’t allow to show.

One evening we were at the office when a package arrived, a plain white box. I signed for it, took it to Mr. Tucker's door, and knocked lightly. “Come in,” he called out in his gorgeous Glaswegian accent. I opened the door and entered. “Package for you, Mr. Tucker,” I said to him. “It’s not a bomb, is it?” he asked as I set it on his desk. I took a chance and smiled, saying “I think bombs are a little heavier than this.” He looked at the card taped to the top. “It’s from the PM,” he said, sounding a bit pleased. He opened the lid, and inside was a cake that had “Happy Birthday C*nt” written on it.

“Well! Happy Birthday Mr. Tucker!” I told him pleasantly. “Fuck off, what are you thinking saying ‘Happy fucking Birthday' to me?” he responded with full vitriol. At that point I became incensed. “I *thought* I would be nice to you. I *thought* nobody, even a miserable fucking prick like YOU, deserves to spend their birthday alone. And now I think I was wrong. Good NIGHT, Mr. Tucker,” I huffed and headed for the door.

“No, wait, please come back,” he said, an apologetic note in his voice. I froze, my back still to him, not sure what to do. “I’m sorry, it's just… This is my 50th, and I’m afraid I’m not handling it well. I turned then, and he was putting a second chair across his desk from his own. “Please, sit down. Have some cunt cake.” I did as he asked, giggling a bit. “What’s so funny?” he asked. “Just that phrase, ‘cunt cake’… It sounds like the pet name you might give your girlfriend.” He chuckled then as well, and I felt better for having said it.

“Oh,” I remembered, “I think I saw a bottle of wine in the desk drawer when I started filling in, would you like me to get it?” “She was probably saving it for when I left office for good, so fuck yeah, go grab it! I’m NEVER leaving!” he exclaimed, laughing. I ran to the desk and got the bottle, a decent Muscato, then sat back down. There were no glasses, plates or forks, nor a knife to cut the cake. We used our fingers to pull bite-sized pieces from the confection, and took turns drinking straight from the bottle.

It was difficult to judge how much wine I’d consumed, but after several minutes I felt rather light-headed. I took another bite of cake to try to absorb some of the wine, and as I licked and sucked the icing from my lips and fingers, I saw Mr. Tucker watching me, looking like some great jungle cat. I blushed and looked down, embarrassed by his attention but also rather aroused. He smiled, and said “What’s your name again?” “Miss Wilson,” I replied. “No, I mean your given name,” he insisted. “Yolanda.” “Yolanda,” he said to me, a little flushed himself by the wine, “I think you may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had in my office.”

Looking up at him, I saw exposed what I’d only glimpsed before… a good man, a lonely man, but at the same time a man desperate for a good shag. This brought the fire out in me. I feed off men's sexual starvation even more easily than the cake, and facing me was an all-I-could-eat buffet. THIS was going to be fun. “You know, this IS a good cake, Mr. Tucker…” I started. “Please, call me Malcolm, Yolanda,” he said with a broad smile. “Malcolm, I can think of a more FUN way to enjoy it.” His eyebrow raised in an expression of curiosity.

I stood and placed the box with the leftover cake in the vacant chair, then reached under my skirt and slowly lowered my panties, which had already become quite damp, with my thumbs. His face changed from curious to sexually excited. I raised my skirt, grabbed a handful of cake, and smeared it liberally from back to front, making sure not to miss an inch of myself. Licking some of what remained from my hand, I repeated, “VERY good cake.”

He stopped me with a gesture, and walked around the desk to stand in front of me. He grabbed my wrist and started licking and sucking the icing from my fingers, a slow, sensual act that made my head swim. He picked me up and sat me on the edge of his desk, pushing my skirt up as far as it would go. With a twinkle in his eyes, he moved the box of cake from the chair to the floor, positioning the chair in front of me and sitting down. “Mind if I have a nibble?” he asked in a deep, throaty voice. I shook my head no, and he scooted further towards me to align himself better. Then, he slowly approached my cake-covered body with his mouth, licking his lips as he did.

The moment his mouth touched me, my head went back in ecstasy. He was licking and sucking the cake off me, slowly and confidently. I felt his tongue touch my nub and my legs began shaking uncontrollably. He placed his hands on my knees, partly to hold me still, partly to have better access to me. Not once did he stop what he was doing, and even after the last of the cake was gone he continued, eagerly licking me all over, until I cried out “MALCOLM!” and felt myself squirting all over him, overcome with passion. He raised his head, and his face was covered with both remnants of cake and my juices.

I felt weak, light-headed, and thoroughly relaxed. After a moment, though, I regained enough of my senses to say, “Your turn.” He emitted a low growl from the back of his throat, and hurriedly fumbled at the fastenings of his trousers. I placed my hands over his. “Let me do it,” I insisted. “This is my birthday gift to you.” He relented, though seemed unsure over letting me do the leading. I carefully unfastened the top hook of his trousers, the fabric of which was already under stress by the enormous bulge that was his erection. Slowly lowering the zipper, he moaned at the sensation against him.

I lightly stroked him through the fabric of his trousers before lowering them, and he made a wounded animal noise, whispering “you fucking tease.” I could feel myself twitching now, but I’d already made a decision and I intended to carry it out. I lowered his trousers, then his boxers, allowing his long, hard cock to spring free. It was already dripping, and looked like it had been for several minutes. I bent from the waist, licking the head until it was completely clean. His hips thrust as I did this, silently begging for more.

I grasped him gently and used his cock like a leash, bringing him to the cake. I got another handful, this time smearing it all over him. Stroking him up and down his length, all around his considerable girth, and all over his balls was driving him insane with desire. I could feel every inch of him begging me for release, but I wasn’t prepared to allow that yet.

This time I took the chair, with him standing in front of me, a vanilla cock cake. I started with the head, nibbling and gently sucking the icing off, then licking any remaining fragments. He buried his fingers deeply into my hair, trying to pull me onto him. I wouldn’t allow that yet though, I’d only just started. I disentangled his hands, weaving my fingers into his, then resumed my mission. I started licking the icing off the sides of his cock, with quick, flickering motions of my tongue. He moaned, begging me to stop and not stop in intervals.

I circled him from the tip, and his head thrust back in an agony of ecstasy. I was getting wetter just listening to him, and I needed to finish this before I did anything else. I wanted him, and myself, to enjoy every last second of this. I started going more quickly, this time from the edge of the icing to his root, using long, slow strokes. I worked my way to the underside, and started nibbling the icing off his balls while I licked the root. He was gripping the edge of the desk, white-knuckled as the intensity of the sensations started to overcome him. He started dripping again as well, and I had to catch it with my tongue, cleaning him like a cat, licking him thoroughly.

I could tell he was close, and I asked him in a teasing tone of voice, “Do you want me to stop a minute, let you calm down?” “Fuck no, you’d BETTER not, you fucking cunt,” he said in a strangled voice. “You’d better finish me off.” I chuckled in a low voice, and bent back below his balls, nibbling and sucking the icing off while licking the root, then worked my way to the opposite side from where I’d started. Once I’d finished, I sat up straight again. “All gone,” I said in a sing-song voice, licking the last of the icing off my lips. Jumping off the desk, he grabbed me by the shoulders and lifted me from the chair.

“You’ve done what YOU want, now it’s MY fucking turn,” Malcolm growled, and practically threw me onto the top of the desk. The force knocked off most of the papers and equipment, and left me breathless. He shoved my skirt up to my neck, then pushed the chair against the desk and got on it on his knees. He put his left hand on my right breast, squeezing it hard. I gasped at the mixture of pain and pleasure, and started twitching uncontrollably.

He used his right hand to guide himself to my hole, then gave one hard thrust. I was so wet he slid in easily, quickly; he immediately hit my G spot and I screamed as I immediately came, convulsing around him in quick, hard pulses. He felt me come, and slowed his pace. He was still rubbing hard against my G spot, and at the same time bumping my nub, which was still swollen from his eating me earlier. My head started thrashing back and forth in a “no” motion, but stopping was the last thing I had in mind. Fortunately, it was the last thing on HIS too, but he had no intention of letting me come again so quickly.

He was giving me long, slow strokes, much gentler than I’d thought he could be. I looked at his face, his blue eyes gazing into mine, a look of determination and at the same time affection on his face. I was breathing hard, quivering under him. It was difficult, knowing he didn’t apparently want me to come yet, but what I was FEELING… I grasped his left arm, and the pressure around my tit eased slightly. He then started using both hands to massage my breasts, the thumbs encircling my nipples, teasing them up until I could feel the skin growing taut around them. Mind and body were both confused at this point. His eyes were telling me NOT to come, but his long, slender fingers, his huge, throbbing cock between my legs… It was like he was DARING me to come.

I gazed at him, helpless, not knowing what to do. He chuckled then, and said in a quiet voice, “How does it feel to be cunt teased?” I whimpered, gritting my teeth, trying to fight what I was feeling. His strokes, which had been slow and agonizingly blissful, became quicker now, more forceful. I moaned loudly, feeling every inch of him penetrating me to my core. Glancing at his face, I saw he intended to finish the both of us, and started pivoting my hips in time with his. The friction between us grew stronger, every motion driving us to the brink of ecstasy. My head thrust back, I screamed his name over and over again, as the waves crashed over me. As I screamed one last, wordless, primal cry of satisfaction, he thrust faster and faster until he came himself, gasping and grunting with pleasure.

He collapsed on my breasts, his curls just tickling my chin, breathing deeply. I ran my fingers through them, listening to him breathe as I felt my heartbeat slowing. “Happy Birthday, Malcolm,” I said quietly. I knew, somehow, this was going to be the best birthday he'd had in a long time, if ever.


End file.
